


Recall

by RogueLioness



Series: Thedosian Tales [8]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 07:17:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14995664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueLioness/pseuds/RogueLioness
Summary: The Inquisitor keeps a journal for her companions.





	Recall

Her journal is no secret; all of her companions have read it at different times, often opting to add a line or two on the borders of her neat notes - Sera choosing to draw some rather obscene pictures instead - but though they laugh and tease her about it, they’re all touched. **  
**

For the Inquisitor’s notes are not about herself, or the situations they face, or the people and places they’ve seen; they serve, instead, as a reminder of all the small joys they share. An easy enough fact to overlook given the peril they face daily, but she doesn’t forget. Doesn’t let _them_  forget.

**Bull** scans the page again with his eye, the firelight spilling onto the yellow parchment: _Pink tulips, petals like velvet. He likes their scent. He looked… content, even in the middle of the Mire with its stench and corpses. Beauty often grows where we least think to look for it._

**Cassandra** steals the book away when she is at training, furiously - but carefully - thumbing through the pages until she finds a passage worth reading: _She handles that book with a reverence I am envious of. She reminds me that having a soft heart does not make one weak. One cannot live a life without passion._

**Sera,** hidden away amidst Skyhold’s rooftops, fresh-baked cookie in one hand and the book in the other:  _Flour on her nose and hair, she sneezed and scared the cook’s cat. And then she fell off the counter laughing - and then laughed at herself. I couldn’t help but join in. When we take ourselves too seriously we fail to see the joy in simple things._

**Dorian,** tucked comfortably into a cozy armchair, a Tevinter vintage close at hand:  _He came across the wounded mabari Dennet’s been taking care of. He scoffed, and grumbled about the dirt, but he got to his knees in the middle of all the mud without a second thought. When he walked out of the stables there was more of the mabari on him than on the dog itself… and despite the smell, he was smiling. His kindness inspires me to do better - to be better - every single day._

**Cole** steals into her room on nights when the hurt is too loud and the helplessness too real:  _He leaves invisible footprints behind him, but his presence is undeniable. He pours honey into Leliana’s wine, places wildflowers in my vases, and cares for Sera’s bees, and yet asks for nothing in return. His selflessness is a treasure beyond compare. Thedas would be a better place if we all learned even a little from him._

**Vivienne** will never admit to perusing through the journal, but late one night after Bastien’s death, insomnia borne of grief, she carefully opens the leather-bound pages:  _The new dress she ordered arrived today. What a magnificent work of art. It is tailored to perfection, and fits her magnificently. How regal she looks! Taking pride in one’s appearance isn’t necessarily arrogance; when we take care of ourselves, we feel better about ourselves - and isn’t that a good thing?_

**Blackwall** , staggering back to his straw bed, having tried to drink his past away:  _He stood between us and the bandits, shield raised. His feet were planted to the ground, his posture strong. The battle was not easy, but we were all standing at the end of it. With nary a scratch on us. He defends us, keeps us safe. He keeps us going._

**Varric** has the book after a night of Wicked Grace, the journal the prize he was after - even though he knows it would be freely given if he asked:  _There was a deep frown on his face, and his hands were stained with ink. A hundred pieces of parchment were scattered on the ground around his feet, each crumpled up. The candle was on its last dregs - and he seemed to be giving up. But then Hawke came up to the table, and sat next to him - a few words, quietly spoken, a laugh shared, and he was energized once more. Such is the power of friends, that simply seeing it in others makes us feel better._

**Solas** hesitates, then gives in and picks up the book for the first time, the hour before they ride out to stop Corypheus:  _He smiles when no one is around but us. When I kiss his nose, or count his freckles. When his fingers find mine beneath the table. When he tells me he loves me. When I tell him I love him._

He stains the pages with his tears, the writing smudged into illegibility. 


End file.
